i just woke from a nightmare in which the attacker was my own sweat-sticky t-shirt. the black morning makes me think of old age alone. when i lived with Brendan I was, uncharacteristically, a glutton for sleep. I would roll gingerly out of bed at 9, 9:30, heavy with having swallowed the morning. At home I'm up at 7. My mom wakes up at 6 in the
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